


armistice

by peeves



Series: healing [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, anxiety attack tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:30:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3916435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peeves/pseuds/peeves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>follow up and part two of my first fix-it fic, "ceasefire" (5x12 alternate ending). Mickey and Ian agree to give their relationship another try, but they still struggle to get on the same page.</p>
            </blockquote>





	armistice

The walk back home is filled with heavy silence only broken by the scratching of footsteps against the pavement. After the hug, Mickey pulled away first, scratching the back of his head and suggested they head home, and so they walked back towards the neighborhood in the dark. But where was home? Mickey had tentatively thought of Ian as home. Once Mandy left, his home became a person, and then people like Yevgeny and Svetlana, and his other brothers. Mandy would always be relevant to what he thought of as home, no matter where she was. Home was family. Was Ian still family? 

“You okay?” 

Mickey’s head snaps up, and he realizes he’d been staring at his feet the entire time.  

“Yeah.” The answer comes out as an extremely unconvincing croak. He shakes his head, clears his throat, and tries again. “Yeah, m’fine.” 

Ian knows Mickey well enough to know that he’s not fine, but he doesn’t push it, doesn’t want to test the already fragile ground. 

It’s a few more footsteps until Mickey chances a look at Ian at his side. “Um, how was seein’ your ma? Was that okay?” 

Slightly taken aback at the question, Ian stumbles through his words. “Uh, yeah it was, yeah, um.” How do you describe a trip like that? Ian doesn’t know how to summarize the complexity that was always Monica, so he answers lamely, “It was fine.” 

Mickey has more questions than that, and wants more of an explanation than “It was fine”. Before Ian was taken in, they were about to go on their first date. After? Straight to a break up. How did that change happen? It had to do with Monica. But Mickey isn’t ready for the answers to those questions, even if Ian is ready to give them, and so they continue to walk silently, side by side, until they reach the Gallagher house. Ian hates the awkwardness but supposes that it is a punishment he deserves. He is relieved to reach his house, and looks forward to crawling into his small bed with Mickey. At least there, on the brink of sleep, curled around Mickey, he could pretend everything was okay. But Mickey stops following him and Ian doesn’t notice until he’s crossed the fence and Mickey’s still on the sidewalk. 

“Did you want to stay here? Or…” Ian lets the question hang over their heads. He’s not sure what Mickey wants, but he’s sure he wants to be with Mickey.  

Mickey glances up at the house and sees Debbie and Carl perching on the windowsill, watching the two of them. He shuffles on his feet, hating the uncertainty that clouds his every move. Chewing on his bottom lip, it’s a few more seconds of silence until he shrugs one shoulder and walks in the front yard with Ian holding the fence door open for him. 

Ian visibly relaxes, and speeds up in his haste to get into bed, back into their safe space, into some sort of comfortable familiarity. As Mickey quickens his footsteps to follow after, stepping onto the staircase that Ian had sat on the day before, his heart rate increases and his vision blurs and before he knows it, he’s gripping the handrail of the front steps, and shaking his head vigorously. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” he mutters to himself. He can’t do this. He can’t follow Ian into his home filled with those selfish people, he can’t lie in that tiny bed with this man that he let himself think loved him, he can’t do this, he can’t do this, he can’t do this. 

“Hey, Mick. _Mick_. Mickey. Look at me. Look at me, Mick.” Ian’s voice is insistent and yet calm, pushing through the haze as his fingers cup Mickey’s chin. 

The firm grip on his chin grounds him and so do Ian’s big, worried eyes. Mickey looks into them and silently begs whatever it is that’s consuming him to stop, to end, to calm down. He’s gripping the handrail so hard he’ll probably have splinters but that prospect of pain grounds him too, brings him back to where he is right now and whom he’s with. Ian is stroking his face then his arm hesitantly, patiently waiting for him to come back. Once Mickey’s breathing slows and his grip on the handrail slackens, Ian moves to put an arm behind Mickey’s back to support him into the house where he can take better care of him. 

“No,” Mickey groans, letting Ian’s arm slip away as he leans against the handrail and straightens up. He steps down so he’s back on flat ground, and he looks up at Ian’s confused and concerned face. 

“No,” Mickey repeats, more firmly this time. He takes a deep breath, and wipes at his bottom lip before starting again. “Look, I can’t…I can’t just go back in there with you, alright?” His eyebrows are arched high, daring Ian to challenge that. 

“Why the hell not?” Ian’s concern blended into anger and confusion. They were going to try to make this work, weren’t they? Didn’t Mickey still want this to work? 

“You—you _left_ me.” Mickey hates how pathetic he sounds, how pathetic he feels. “Do you—do you get that?” Ian opens his mouth to retort, but Mickey cuts him off. “Look I get that this, us, hasn’t exactly been a fuckin’ picnic for you either alright? I get that I’ve hurt you, more than once—” Mickey winces at the memories, but continues. “—and maybe this, maybe this was punishment for that,” he says, motioning at the space between them in a way that was meant to allude to their break up. 

“Mick, we broke up for one day,” Ian almost whines, half pleads. 

Mickey shoves the heels of his hands into his eyes, not to rub away tears, but frustration. 

“It’s not just about the time, alright, Gall—Ian. Ian,” he repeats, as if as a reminder to himself. Mickey didn’t know how to make Ian understand how much it took for Mickey to let his walls down, how big of a step it was for him to say “I love you” not once, but twice. And to be ignored the first time and shrugged off the second? There weren’t words to describe the betrayal and heartbreak Mickey still had to sort through, the effort put into building their comfort zone for just the two of them, shattered with a few words. 

Ian can hardly believe it. Mickey almost just called him Gallagher, almost shoved them back years of progress. 

“I just need some space.” This is new ground for the both of them, this open negotiating. And for the first time in a long time, Ian’s afraid to push for more. 

Hands in his pockets, rocking back onto his heels, Ian nods reluctantly. “Okay.” 

“Okay.” Mickey scratches the back of his head, unsure if this is his cue to leave. 

“Goodnight, then,” Ian says, and slowly heads up the stairs, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t want Mickey to see him break. He doesn’t want to break. Space is fine. He can handle space. He deserves space, probably, after leaving Mickey high and dry for the last two days, wondering where on earth he was with no contact at all. 

Mickey stares for a moment at the closed door, then heads home. His home. The Milkovich house, where he grew up, where his family no longer stayed. Maybe home and family are two different things, he thinks to himself as he walks alone in the dark. 

 

* * *

 

By the time he crawls into his empty bed, the birds have begun to chirp, and there is a bit of light creeping in through the window. He settles in anyways, and arranges his pillows so he can fall asleep pretending Ian’s wrapped around him, the way he has the last few days. Before he dozes off, however, he reaches for his phone one last time. He dials the number he’s dialed hundreds of times before, and tells himself he’ll only wait three rings. 

“Hello?” Ian picks up on the second ring. His voice holds no trace of sleep, but no excitement either, because he wasn’t anticipating this call. 

“Just called to say goodnight,” Mickey says. He hears Ian’s soft inhale and exhale, as if he’s trying to figure out what to say. 

“It’s basically morning,” Ian finally responds, and Mickey can hear it in his voice, the slight tease and the slight smirk.  

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Mickey retorts, and he can’t help but grin. Eyes closed, he can see Ian’s smile, Ian’s freckly hand holding the phone, and Ian’s eyes cast downward as they listened to each other breathe. This was the cheeky bastard he had fallen for.  

“Goodnight, Mick,” Ian says, quieter, and this time they hang up together. 

**Author's Note:**

> as always i'd love feedback! hmu @ peeves.tumblr.com


End file.
